“Maybe we’d better go and see George; least we can do.”
George Felliet was furious with them. Charles had to listen co a passionate tirade about snakes in the grass and false friends. Waiting until George had exhausted himself, Charles said mildly, ’You have to face up to the fact that she’s guilty.”
George suddenly collapsed into a chair. “She hated leaving the manor,” he said. “Even as a little girl, she couldn’t understand that the money was running out. Kept demanding expensive things—clothes, the latest in computers, that sort of thing. But I never thought she would go this far.”
“And you haven’t heard from her?”
“Not a word.”
Crystal Felliet came into the house and glared at them. “Get out!” she shouted.
“But Crystal…” Charles began.
“OUT!” she screamed.
Agatha and Charles left hurriedly. In the car, Agatha said, “Do you think they’d hide their daughter if she went to them?”
“Hard to say. I think that’s an unmarked police car across the road.”
“Are you staying the night?”
“I’d like to, but I’ve got farm business to attend to. YouTl be all right with the police guard on the door.”
In the psychiatric prison the next morning, Emma Comfrey continued to wander about talking to herself. Emma’s brain had cleared up a few days before, but she continued to act mad because she did not want to be judged fit to stand trial.
In the past few days she had managed to keep up the pretence of insanity during interviews with various psychiatrists. But that afternoon, she was presented with a new psychiatrist, a woman with small eyes and glossy brown hair. She reminded Emma forcibly of Agatha Raisin—Agatha Raisin, whom Emma blamed for all her troubles.
Emma dribbled and smiled vacantly while all the time her mind was racing. Convinced she could not break through the wall of Emma’s insanity, the psychiatrist left, and was replaced with a nurse.
“Now, dearie,” said the nurse. “Take your medicine.”
She held out a little dish with a few pills on it.
Emma stared at her vacantly. “Here. I’ll help you. Here’s the glass of water. Here’s the first pill.”
Emma’s eyes drifted past her to her tray containing a syringe of tranquillizer, used for subduing patients who turned violent. Emma had seen such a one used on a patient just the other day. She took the glass of water and threw it in the nurse’s face, grabbed the tranquillizer syringe while clamping her hand over the nurse’s mouth, and plunged the needle in. She held on grimly until at last she felt the nurse go limp in her arms.
She removed the nurse’s white coat and outer clothes and shoes, stripped off her hospital garments and put them all on, pinning the nurse’s identification card on her white coat.
Then she dragged the nurse over to the bed and rolled her onto it and covered her right up with the blankets.
Emma was not considered any risk, so there was no guard outside the door. She picked up the nurse’s clipboard and made her way out, keeping her head down as if studying it as she made her way hurriedly along the corridor. She saw a doctor approaching who knew her and dived into a room which turned out to be a pharmacy.
There was a male nurse on duty. “I need a couple more tranquillizer syringes,” said Emma briskly. He reluctantly put down the newspaper he had been reading, unlocked a cabinet and gave her two syringes and then produced a book. “Sign here.” He had not recognized her, but nurses in a psychiatric prison came and went.
Emma glanced down at the laminated card on her bosom and signed “Jane Hopkirk,” the nurse’s name.
She put the syringes in her pocket and felt a key at the bottom of the pocket. The corridor outside was empty, so she took out the key and looked at it. A locker key.
Where would the lockers be? Then she nearly laughed out loud. On the wall at the end of the corridor was a plan of the hospital.
She could smell lunch being served. Hopefully that would mean that most of the nurses would be in the canteen, leaving the orderlies to take round the patients’ meals.
In the locker room, she located the right one from the number on the key. Inside was a coat and a handbag. Inside the handbag were car keys.
Emma put on the coat and took the handbag. She then walked down the stairs and briskly out through the front door.
She went round to the car-park and flicked the remotf control round all the cars until she saw one flash its security lights.
It was the latest Volvo. Miss Hopkirk must have monev, thought Emma. She could never afford this on a nurse’s salary.
There was a security pass on the windscreen, so she drove past the security guard with a wave and a smile. Once she was well out on the road, she parked at the side and rummaged through the handbag. The wallet contained over one hundred pounds. In a side pocket of the bag, to her delight, she found a pin number. She drove on to the nearest cash machine, put in a card and drew out two hundred.
They would come for her when she had done what she had to do, but Agatha Raisin would no longer be alive.
She left the car outside Mircester and bought a bicycle and then began to cycle towards Carsely through the back roads heavy with autumn foliage.
PC Boyd stretched out his long legs. The day had turned sunny again. He felt very sleepy, full of tea, home- made scones and cake.
A slim young woman wearing a business suit and with a silk scarf over her head, approached him.
“I wonder if you would like to try some of my home-made wine,” she said. “Agatha’s sent me from the office to pick up some papers for her. I have the keys.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“Do have a glass. I’m very proud of it.”
“Maybe just one. Don’t tell anyone. I’m not supposed to drink on duty.”
“I’ve brought a glass.” The bottle had a screw top. She unscrewed it and poured him a glass.
Boyd watched as she unlocked the door and switched off the burglar alarm. Then, when the door had closed, he smelt the glass of wine. It smelt terribly sweet. He didn’t want to offend her, so he poured the contents off into a bed of winter pansies and settled back in his chair. The sun was warm, he was full of home-made goodies and in no time at all, he fell asleep.
He did not hear the door behind him open a little and then close.
Felicity Felliet went back into the kitchen and sat down to wait. She had put a heavy drug into that wine. She was glad Jeremy had left the keys to Agatha’s cottage with her. The man he had hired to gas Agatha had got two sets cut, sending one to Jeremy for safekeeping in case the first attempt failed. And the silly bitch had forgotten to change her alarm code.
The cats were staring at her. Felicity opened the garden door and they ran out. She had tailed Agatha and had noticed her going into the village store. Wouldn’t be long now. “I’m doing this for you, Jeremy, you loser, and to get rid of that bitch who made me lose my home,” she muttered.
Agatha left the village stores carrying two cans of cat food. Her pampered cats preferred real food, but they would need to make do this one time with the commercial stuff. Agatha was tired after answering more and more questions. She suddenly decided to go and visit Mrs. Bloxby and tell her everything that had happened. The vicar’s wife listened in amazement to Agatha’s story.
“I always thought that intuition of yours was a gift from God, Mrs. Raisin.”
Agatha looked uncomfortable, as she always did when God was mentioned.
“Felicity Felliet is still out there.”
“I think you’ll be safe as long as the police keep a guard on you. Where can she run to?”
“Anywhere,” said Agatha gloomily. “I bet you that one has six passports.”
Emma had stopped to buy a hunting knife. Her brain felt amazingly clear and logical. But as she left the bicycle at the top of the road down into Carsely and began to walk, she could feel nagging little voices at the back
